Why have you gone away from Hempfield, and where are you? Just at the moment I found you, and found myself, you have gone away. Is it anything I have done, or have not done? It seems to me, as I look back, that I have been fast asleep all the years, until last night when you wakened me. I know I am awake, because everything I see to-day is changed from what it was yesterday; everything is more beautiful and nobler—and sadder. When I went down this morning I seemed to see a new Hempfield. I loved it even more than I loved the old Hempfield, and as I met the children on their way to school I had a new feeling for them, too. They seemed very dear to me.
I did not find you at the office, but my heart kept saying to me, "Nort will soon be here.... In a moment Nort will be coming in." Whenever I heard a step on the porch I said, "It is surely Nort," but you did not come. I think the office never seemed so wonderful to me as it did to-day, for the thought that you had been there, and would be there again. Everything reminded me of you, of the way you looked, and of what you did, and how your voice sounded.
And then your letter came. Why have you gone away from Hempfield? I could not make it any plainer last night, Nort. I did not understand it fully myself, until afterward. Don't you see? I have nothing to give that is not yours for the asking. Come back, for I love you, Nort.
Anthy.
This letter, which I did not know about until long afterward, was never sent, for Anthy had no way of addressing it.
That evening, rereading Nort's letter, she said aloud:
"What does he mean by saying Fergus is right? What has Fergus to do with it? Where is Fergus?"
